


Disappear Daily

by hendollana



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Tommy is sad, and alfie loves him a lot, kinda?? you'll see, more like internal angst bc this is tommy shelby we're talking about, nothing new there, so also nothing new there, so thats nice xx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 15:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hendollana/pseuds/hendollana
Summary: In which Tommy Shelby drives all the way to London to get an answer from Alfie Solomons.





	Disappear Daily

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote 90% of this at 4am to stave off a mental breakdown so its most certainty not my best work but its getting posted anyway boiissss! all in all i love alfie and tommy and maybe enjoy projecting my own feelings onto tommy a little too much. also a warning, this is probably very ooc so i apologise in advance and also set in some mid season 3 world ive made up because michael exists and theres mention of russians, but no major spoilers. Anyway please enjoy my sleep deprived ramblings.
> 
> title from Ollie MN

It's so unfair, so fucking unfair, Tommy can’t help but think to himself. Why can't his stupid brain work properly. It hurts to breathe, it hurts Tommy to inhale, exhale, inhale, slowly, exhale, slowly Tommy, slowly. The mantra in his head sounds suspiciously like Alfie's cockney drawl, the same words spoken softly into Tommy's hair many a night, trying to talk his lungs into cooperation with his pounding heart and spiralling mind. Tommy finds it doesn't quite work the same when he's sat by himself, knees drawn tight to his chest, in his cold bedroom with his arms weakly wrapped around himself, a poor mans equivalent to Alfie's strong, warm body. It's the middle of the bloody night and Tommy doesn't know what to do, how to stop his hands from shaking so much that he almost drops his fifth cigarette of the night, expect from get in his car and drive down to London, to Alfie's cosy house, his bed, no, _their_ bed, and curl up into Alfie's arms and let himself be whispered lullabies in Yiddish till he drifts off to sleep.

Tommy knows it's a silly, reckless idea but his stupid, _stupid_ brain doesn't stop him from dragging himself up from the slump his body finds itself in and haphazardly pulling on the nearest clothes to him before shrugging into his jacket. Doesn’t stop Tommy from slowly opening his bedroom door, cautious of the rest of the Shelby family waking up and questioning why the fuck he's leaving the house at two am with tear tracks staining his face, he doesn't want to have to explain to them that he needs Alfie more than he needs oxygen right now. So he's just as quiet descending the stairs, carefully skipping the third step that he knows creaks loudly enough to wake up the whole of Small Heath, and is even quieter as he opens the front door and closes it behind him, breathing a strained sigh of relief as he's met with the cool, crisp air you only experience alone at night.

Tommy realises that, maybe, he shouldn't be doing this as he climbs into the driver’s seat of the car, he's not even sure if he should be driving in his current mind set, with his hands still trembling and his breathing not quite filling his lungs all the way. He'll get to Camden by early morning, but then, what if Alfie doesn't even want to see him? It was Alfie who had told him to go back to Birmingham for a bit, make sure Arthur and John were okay, that the Russians hadn't done anything stupid, but maybe it was just that Alfie was sick of him, which was fine, just _fine_ , Tommy reasoned to himself, it's not like they're married or anything. But God, did Tommy want, need, to see Alfie, in his stupid oversized clothing that smelt like rum and firewood – home, Tommy supplied – and to just bury his head into Alfie's chest and finally be able to breathe.

Maybe that's the thought that spurs Tommy into pushing the car into gear and begin the familiar route to London. The car trundles along the road quietly, almost as aware as Tommy of the sleeping world around them, guiding Tommy out of Birmingham, leaving the smog and mist behind and greeting Tommy with the dark roads of the countryside, it calms him a little. The openness and seeming freedom of the vast expanse of the hills and trees always made Tommy breathe easier, even when he was a kid and Arthur would carry him on his back to the nearest patch of green grass just to escape their house for a little bit. God, what would Arthur say to him now? His hands still shaking lightly on their place on the steering wheel, running off to go see his, what, partner, lover, very good gang leader friend who fucks him most weekends? Tommy doesn’t know what to class him and Alfie as, they’ve been sleeping together for months, they’re exclusive and spend as much time as they can together, and Tommy knows that if it were a woman he was in this position with Polly would be on at him to propose. Except, Alfie is very much a man and his family have no idea he spends half his time in London wrapped in Alfie Solomons sheets.

The sun is starting to come up, the orange light shining softly down onto Tommy’s cheeks and he knows that if Alfie were next to him in the passenger seat he would make some sappy comment about how beautiful Tommy is. It makes Tommy sigh, missing Alfie more than he knew was possible when he was an hour out from London, the journey passing quickly when his body carries out the motions of driving without him having to do much thinking, leaving his already scrambled mind to focus on whatever the fuck him and Alfie have going on. Maybe he’ll ask, when he finally reaches Alfie’s home, maybe Tommy will just blurt out to Alfie that he needs to know what they are, needs to know if Alfie feels the same way, if he feels this deep, aching need in his bones whenever they’re apart, needs to know if Alfie _loves_ him.

But then, Tommy isn’t sure what he’d do if Alfie just laughed at his questions, brushed him off with a smirk and a “What’s up with you, Tommy boy? Of course I don’t love you.”. Because Tommy loves Alfie more than he’s ever loved anyone, even before the war, and maybe he’s being presumptuous, but Tommy can’t help but think that when Alfie holds him tight, after the shovels become too much and he’s trembling so much he’s shaking the bed, that there’s love in his calming whispers and soothing sweet nothings.

Tommy’s internal panic is stopped short though, because he’s pulling up to Alfie’s rather large townhouse and he needs to shut off the car before Alfie, always the early riser, notices that there’s a running engine outside his home and pulls a gun out, ready to shoot whoever’s decided they want him dead today. Tommy wasn’t meant to be back in London for another few days yet, and even then, they’d agreed Tommy would get the train and Alfie would meet him at the station. Tommy knows that he needs to get out of the car and knock on the door before he talks himself out of seeing Alfie, so he quickly exits the car and dusts his jacket off, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt both to conceal the fact he’s been crying and to rub away some of the sleep in the corners of them before taking a deep, albeit shaky, breath and walking the steps to Alfie’s door and knocking, once, twice, three times.

Tommy doesn’t have to wait long before Alfie is swinging the door open, his muttered unpleasantries dying from his lips when he spots Tommy’s small frame huddled on his front step, looking very sad and sorry for himself if Alfie wouldn’t mind saying.

“Tommy, mate, wasn’t expecting you yet.”

Tommy can’t help but smile a bit at Alfie’s badly concealed surprise, before it falters a little remembering the very distinct possibility that Alfie won’t want him here.

“Yeah, sorry, I just wasn’t that busy up in Birmingham. Arthur and John are handling things well, and now with Michael to help, you know, yeah so I thought I’d come down a bit early, see if anything is happening down here.” Tommy mutters, his hands fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt, eyes leaving Alfie’s face half way through his excuse.

Alfie’s known Tommy long enough to know when he’s lying, but also long enough to know when not to press right away, “Thomas Shelby, not busy? Well I never. Come on then, come in. I’ll make you some tea, lord knows you won’t have eaten yet.”

Tommy lifts his eyes up from the ground and a small, gracious smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, Alfie full blown grin being given in return as they step into the house and close the door behind them.

“You want some breakfast too then, huh?” Alfie asks, before pausing a little, a frown appearing between his brows “Sweetheart, you must have left in the middle of the fucking night to drive here. You must be bloody exhausted.”

Tommy faulters a little at the concern lacing Alfie’s voice, his shoulders shrugging from under his coat, “I’m fine.”

“Aye, but you’d say you were fine with half your leg missing and a gunshot wound.”

“Yeah, well some of us are stronger than others.” Tommy dryly replies, a smirk peeping onto his face.

“Hm. Don’t like what you’re insinuating there mate,” Alfie grunts back, before softening his voice, “but what I like even less is you diffusing the conversation from your health and wellbeing.”

They’ve made their way into the kitchen now, Tommy sitting on one of the counters whilst Alfie set’s about making the tea, and no doubt some form of breakfast. Tommy knew this would happen, knew that Alfie would try to refrain from prodding and poking into how he’s feeling but wouldn’t be able to help himself but pry into Tommy’s mind.

Tommy wasn’t used to telling people how he feels, really feels, until he and Alfie started this thing. Alfie has this way of making Tommy tell him nearly everything that’s troubling him, and sure, it had taken a few weeks for Tommy to admit that he didn’t want to stay over because he was worried he’d wake Alfie up in his nightmare ridden sleep, or that he sometimes felt like he couldn’t breathe and the walls were closing in around him. Tommy hadn’t been able to look at Alfie when he’d told him all this, unable to bear what he thought would be Alfie’s condescending gaze, so when Alfie had only wrapped his arms around Tommy and kissed him on the head whilst muttering that, it happens to the best of us Tommy, and, don’t worry I’ll keep you safe, he had been surprised. And yet Alfie had stayed true to his words, because Tommy had never felt safer with a person than Alfie.

“You’re awfully quiet over there Thomas,” Alfie muses, pouring the freshly made tea into two cups, “More quiet than usual anyway. Something on your mind, love?”

Tommy sighs a little, accepting the cup from Alfie and wrapping his hands around the warm contents, leaning his head towards Alfie’s shoulder.

Fuck it, Tommy thinks, “Do you love me?”

And when Tommy feels Alfie freeze under him, the hand that was stroking his thigh stopping, he knows he’s fucked up. God, why would he ask Alfie that. Alfie doesn’t love him, and now he’s gone and ruined whatever it was they had. The one good thing in his life and he’s ruined it. He doesn’t realise he’s breathing too fast and too slowly all at once until he feels his lungs burning, and great, to make matters worse he’s about to have a breakdown in front of Alfie. Tommy knows it’s pathetic, that he’s pathetic, fuck, he knows he needs to breathe but the air won’t fill his lungs because it tastes like Alfie and Alfie doesn’t love him, and now Tommy is going to have to drive all the way back to fucking Birmingham and rot away in his shitty bed, and, God, does he even have any opium left-

“Tommy, hey, sweetheart, stop.” Alfie’s voice breaks through his thoughts, reminding him that he’s leaning against Alfie’s chest. Tommy jerks away, backing up as far as he can on the counter, “Stop Tommy. You’re fine, here, please Tommy, breathe. In and out, you remember, slowly okay, watch me.”

And maybe Alfie doesn’t love him but he’s still helping him, so Tommy watches Alfie’s chest rise and fall slowly and copies as best as he can, his breaths shuddering a little but slowly calming back down until he’s almost in sync with Alfie’s deep, steady intake of air.

“That’s it, good lad,” Alfie murmurs, taking Tommy’s hand and pulling him closer and off the counter, until he’s standing up tucked into Alfie’s body, “There we go, I’ve got you love. All safe.”

Tommy feels ridiculous, a burn behind his eyes from tears not allowed to fall, pressed into the chest of the man who doesn’t love him back. He feels ridiculous but better, Alfie possessing the ability to make him feel better, and Tommy’s really going to miss that.

“I should be leaving. I’m sorry, Alfie.” Tommy croaks out, clearing his throat as he pulls away from Alfie’s warmth.

“Why the fuck would you be leaving Tom?” Alfie questions, pulling Tommy back to him before he can step away, his face a mix of concern and confusion.

“Because I love you and you don’t love me.”

And fuck, Tommy hates being that open, he never usually would be, and maybe it’s the exhaustion making him be so vulnerable or maybe it’s that he’s so, _so_ done with this not knowing thing.  

“See that’s where you’re wrong,” Alfie speaks, “Why on earth would I not love someone as pretty and special as you?”

“What?” Tommy’s pulled away from Alfie’s embrace now, staring up into his face.

“Jesus, Tommy, for someone as smart as you, you sure ain’t half oblivious,” Alfie grins, “Or just too stuck in your own head to realise how people feel for you.”

“Oh,” And now Tommy doesn’t know how to feel, because he’s just made a fool of himself, but at the same time, Alfie loves him. Ain’t that nice to think, Tommy repeats to himself in his head, Alfie loves me.

“Silly boy.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy mutters, pushing slightly against Alfie’s chest, “I just wasn’t sure okay.”

“Oh? So that’s why you just forgot how to breathe, thought you were going to die on my fucking kitchen floor, just because you weren’t sure if I loved you?” Alfie’s tone is humours, making Tommy frown at him, “Well I do, so no need for anymore failure of the lungs, alright?”

“Yeah, well, I love you too.” Tommy says, shy in a way he’s usually not, because this means more than most things to him.

“I know, thought you knew that I loved ya too.” Alfie teases, pulling Tommy back into him once more and pressing a kiss against his forehead.

Warmth fills Tommy, a warmth only supplied by Alfie, and a real, eye crinkling smile presses up against Alfie’s shirt. He can breathe now, feels silly for ever feeling like he couldn’t breathe, when he knows that Alfie would breathe for him if he could, would fight fucking oxygen its self for not being kind to Tommy. Tommy loves this man, and he loves him back.

“Arthur is going to kill me for running off like this without telling anyone.”

“Aye, not if I kill him first,” Alfie smiles, “Nothing more important than you being happy, Tommy. Seems you’re happiest with me, as I you.”

“Shut it,” Tommy bites back, secretly glad for his face still being pressed into Alfie’s shoulder so the red warming his cheeks is hidden, “Let’s go to bed.”

“Tommy Shelby, not being busy and suggesting going to sleep?” Alfie mock gasps, “What a world we live in. Wait till I tell your enemies about this.”

Tommy can’t stop the small laugh that escapes his lips, “Who said anything about sleeping, old man?”

Alfie grins, putting his hand under Tommy’s chin and kisses his smiling mouth, “That’s more like it,” mirroring Tommy’s smile as he pulls away, “I love you.”

“I know, Alfie.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always always appreciated


End file.
